Page 6 of Running Risk
We grab our coats, and I say, “Okay.” Closing the door, I walk down the steps and to the fire pit in the middle of the field, just beyond the garden.
I love fires. I love watching the flames spread and flicker in different shades of oranges and yellows. I grab a few logs and neatly put them into a teepee shape. Clayton hands me smaller twigs, and I smile my thanks. It’s nice outside, quiet. You can hear the crickets chirping their song.
I get the lighter out of the basket, placing moss, dead leaves, and a napkin around the smaller twigs. Once the fire steadily flickers, I hand Clayton a stick and the marshmallows. We roast them in comfortable silence. We have both eaten two by the time our parents come out and join us. They continue talking, my mom telling them all about the school, the town, and the events the town likes to host. Our dads talk about their houses and land. My parents own ten acres of land, and Clayton’s parents bought a property that butts up against ours.
“Rylee, do you know when track tryouts start? Apparently, Clayton loves to run track, but Mrs. Daniels isn’t sure when thetryouts are,” my mom asks. The reflection of the fire dances in her eyes.
“How would I know?” My face pinches in confusion.
My mom laughs. “Maybe you have seen a poster about it or something somewhere around school.”
I shake my head. “I haven’t seen anything in the school library.”
“Would you want to try out with Clayton?” Mrs. Daniels asks.
I shake my head. “Not really.”
“She never has been one for any type of sports. We’ve always tried, but she’s much happier with a new book,” my dad explains, plucking a marshmallow off his stick.
“Oh, sweetie.” My mom looks at me like she forgot to tell me something. “Mrs. Clayton and I are going to take turns taking you both to and from school. There’s no reason for both of us to go both ways each day. So you may be staying after school for Clayton’s practices now and then.”
“Okay.” I nod. “Can I read while he has practice?” I don’t care where I am, that’s one of the best things about reading. I can do it anywhere, anytime.
“Of course, you can.”
A small smile stretches across my face before going back to roasting my marshmallows.
4
CLAYTON: THEN
Clayton:11 years old
My mom pulls over to the curb to let me out in front of the school. She wanted to drive me on my first day, so the carpooling with the Thompsons will begin tomorrow. Glancing through my reflection in the window, I’m thankful for another second with a divider between me and the groups of friends and teachers gathered before the first bell.
“You’re going to do great, sweetie. At least you know Rylee.” My mom pats my knee.
I nod while she tries to calm her nerves more than mine. I’ve always stuck to myself and didn’t have many friends at my last school. I hardly gave anyone a chance to get to know me because I preferred running during lunch breaks, giving myself only enough time to eat on the walk to my next class. I’m always anxious around people, and running makes me feel free and gives me a clear head for the rest of the day.
Getting out of the car, I walk inside the large, white building and pause when someone calls my name. I turn around right before Rylee jogs straight up to me, her face bright with a smile.
“Hey.” She pants through her breaths. “Want help finding your class?”
I nod. “Sure.” Rylee seems nice, and I’m glad I don’t have to go in alone. It’s overwhelming thinking about finding my locker and all my classes.
“Show me your schedule.” She holds out her hand.
Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out the folded paper with my schedule written on it. She snatches it, and I watch her scan the classes and teacher names.
“You’re in all my classes, except the one before lunch. Follow me. I’ll help you find your locker, and we can go to class.”
I watch as she walks inside, her long braid swinging behind her. She glances over her shoulder to look at me, but I haven’t moved from the spot she left. My heart pounds hard in my chest, and I’m doing my best to remember to breathe in through my nose and out my mouth. Her head tilts as she waits for me, and my fists open and close five times before I take one last breath and force my legs to walk forward. I can do this.
Rylee walks me to every class, even the one she isn’t in. After the bell rings for lunch, I ask the teacher where the track field is and take off out the side door. Leaving my backpack on a bench, my feet pound on the asphalt. The chirp of the birds in the trees fills my ears. The scorching sun beats on top of my head.I can breathe.Finishing my first lap, movement catches my eye near the bleachers. Rylee stands there, waving her arms over the top of her head. I slow to a jog and veer off the track toward her.
“There you are,” she says. “I was looking everywhere for you. You don’t want lunch?”
“It’s in my bag.” I motion toward the bench.
